The Last Pendragon
by Polaris Aries Black
Summary: Harry never expected to be rescued from the Dursleys by a stranger during the middle of the night in the summer before his third year. Now he's found out that he's an heir to an old powerful bloodline and that he is destined to take up the throne of Magical Britain. Is it going to be too much for Harry to handle or will he become the leader he was meant to be?
1. Prologue: Harry's Midnight Rescue

**_Adopted from DZ2._**

**The Last Pendragon**

**Prologue: Harry's Midnight Rescue**

**_Summary: Harry never expected to be rescued from the Dursleys by a stranger during the middle of the night in the summer before his third year. Now he's found out that he's an heir to an old powerful bloodline and that he is destined to take up the throne of Magical Britain. Is it going to be too much for Harry to handle or will he rise to the occasion? _**

**_Thanks DZ2 for letting me continue this fantastic story!_**

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><p>Another year had come and gone and Harry wondered just how it was he had actually survived his past year: from idiotic Defence Professors that only ended up injuring themselves to Basilisks, petrifications and the realizations of new powers and gifts that apparently came from one who wanted him dead, Harry felt like his mind was being warped by forces unknown to live, fight and die every year. It didn't matter about his grades or about how strong, brave or friendly he was to people; no, all that mattered was that, at the very end of it all, he died or came close to dying at the end of the year before being saved by he didn't know what.<p>

Was that his fate at Hogwarts?

To risk his life for friends and for the good of the school just so he could come close to death time and time again and then, when it mattered, be recognised as a hero while, at other times, he was seen as the outcast because he had some unusual magical skill or an affinity to a House that most of the school saw as outcasts?

Then, even when he did survive, he would be sent back to Privet Drive and away from those friends, away from those who liked him for who he was rather than treat him like he was nothing more than a worthless insect. For two summers, it had been the same thing and now, after the events of Dobby's visit and Harry's escape through the Weasleys and the flying car, the Dursleys had gone from crazy to just plain insane: they had locked him in his room and then threatened that, in Uncle Vernon's words: if that bloody great pigeon of yours makes any noise this summer, I'll be using the gun on her…period!

Harry didn't want Hedwig to get hurt, but he couldn't send her out and they had wrapped chains around the cage and welded them tightly around one another, taking away any chances of Harry being able to release Hedwig if he tried. After that, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had given Harry a little 'payback' for the cake and the chaos of their normal lives being intruded by the car from the previous year, which was why, on the Friday night where this story starts, Harry was doubled over in pain, a small bowl placed next to him in case he was sick as the Dursleys didn't want the neighbors knowing the pain that their freak of a relative caused.

Nearby, Hedwig hooted softly, her voice muffled by the thick sheet that Harry had put over her cage to stop the Dursleys hearing her, but to also stop Hedwig from having to bear witness to his pain, which would cause her to make a real racket and that would have her staring down the wrong end of a double-barrel of hell. Wheezing through his pain, Harry tried to crawl to his bed, his bleary vision aware of the locked door and the double-bolted window, which only added to the image that Privet Drive had become a real prison as of late.

So, as he crawled to the bed, it was pretty understandable for Harry to ask why his fate was filled with pain, loss and death all the time when, in reality, he was just as normal as the next person and, in his mind's sense of half-consciousness, Harry vowed that, if he ever got out of this prison, he'd make sure to do whatever he could to make sure he never returned.

Through his haze of pain, Harry managed to reach his bed and, with a gasping cry that appeared to become garbled as it reached his lips, Harry hoisted himself up, using the headboard of his bed to rest on as he checked over his injuries. The ones he could tell almost immediately were his broken nose, black left eye – judging by the fact that he could hardly open the eye without pain shooting through him – and it also felt like he'd lost three teeth. Beneath that, Harry felt a mosaic of bruises on his chest and his ribs throbbed with so much pain that it felt like they were on fire: he'd either gained fractured ribs or, worse case scenario, he had broken ribs that would take weeks to recover.

His arms appeared to be relatively undamaged, though Harry felt a strong twisting pain in his right hand – the same hand he used to cast spells with his wand – which indicated a broken wrist: now he knew how Neville felt after their first Flying lesson. His left hand had a strong welt against Harry's knuckles where his Uncle had deliriously slammed the cupboard door on his fingers, but, other than that, he was pretty much all right with that hand. Like his chest and back, as Harry could feel the sting against his spine where his Uncle's belt had lashed against him like he was some sort of wild animal, Harry's legs were also covered in scars and welts and, above his legs, his waistline was a whirlwind of pain while his stomach now ached with an emptiness that gnawed at Harry's insides. Even if he did try to eat something, his body wouldn't let it stay down, hence the bowl next to his bed, but Harry didn't care too much about food or drink, because there was one last thing that he was now sure of.

When he'd tried to tap into any sort of magical defence that would ensure his Uncle couldn't touch him – just like how Quirrell/Voldemort had been unable to touch him without being burned – it had felt like Harry was hitting the bottom of a very dry well. Long story short: he had no magic to call upon and he didn't know why; the pain had still come and the scorching feeling of the belt, fists and other such implements of torment and hell had still hit him: some optimistic person would comment that Harry should count his lucky stars that he was still alive, but, compared to what he was feeling at the moment and with no way to heal himself, Harry would have welcomed death at that moment.

He would have…but he didn't, because then he would know that his deranged Uncle and sick-minded relatives would have won: no, all that mattered was Harry trying to call upon any sort of magical reserve that he may have held and, with that power, doing the best he could to try and recover from this.

Resting his head against the wall, Harry closed his eyes and tried once more to reach into his magic, seeking out even the smallest sliver of magical potential while, at the same time, he began to wonder what sort of event could have brought his magical level to something that, if measured, was beyond zero. It was sub-zero and entering the realm of non-existent, but Harry knew that was a lie: he was a Parseltongue, he'd been healed by a phoenix, he was a Quidditch star and, time and time again, he'd used magic to protect his friends and deal with obstacles in his path.

So, this time, he was determined to find the magic and, if the well was dry, then Harry would just keep…

BANG!

The sound came so quickly that Harry fell from his bed, his body screaming in pain as he looked to his door, a sound like heavy footfalls moving up the stairs before a stern voice commanded, "Watch the perimeter: he has to be in one of these rooms: Stunners only; nothing vital."

"Yes sir," chorused at least five other voices, Harry looking through his pain as doors were opened, one of them revealing his Uncle as he heard cursing before silence filled Privet Drive. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the mysterious intruder reached Harry's locked door and, seconds later, there was a sharp click and the door opened, revealing the hall and figures beyond.

"Target 1 located," the figure exclaimed, Harry noticing a rather sharp-edged tone to the voice as if he was a member of some intelligence group or militia; without waiting, the figure entered and, seeing Harry hunched over, he exclaimed, "Sir, we have wounded here: it's him, though."

"Stand down, soldier," a second voice instructed, Harry aware of an almost fine-tuned British accent in his voice; this time, he saw that the man who had entered was escorted by another: he was a tall man who looked to be at least in his mid-thirties or possibly his late twenties. As he passed Harry's bolted window, the young boy saw jet-black hair that was just like his own and deep hawthorn colored eyes that could have actually been mistaken for black in appearance. Seeing Harry's rather alarmed face, the man's hand went to his waist before he retracted it again, the hand this time empty as he bent down and, peering into Harry's eyes, he muttered, "It's all right, Lord Potter: we're here to help you; I apologize for the theatrical entrance, but it was important we retrieve you now. Can…can you stand?"

"I…I don't…I don't know," Harry admitted, the first soldier – if he was a soldier – approaching Harry and offering him a strong arm for support; the man who had spoken watched as Harry accepted the arm and, weakly, he rose to his feet, his body crying out in protest. When Harry stood, it seemed that his levels of endurance reached their peak as he fell to the floor again, the second man now supporting him and not even minding when Harry vomited blood and sick over his clearly finely-crafted black cloak.

"Serious injuries," the second man muttered, placing a soft hand on Harry's back and receiving a gasp for his efforts, "And abrasions that have had no time to heal: soldier!"

"Yes sir!" the first man remarked, saluting the second man whom Harry assumed was some sort of superior around here.

"Take those three into custody and have them incarcerated under charges of abuse, neglect and intentional harm and imprisonment," the second man commanded, supporting Harry now as he asked, "My Lord: given the circumstances, would you object to my carrying you?"

"No," Harry rasped, the second man then doing just that: in an almost comfortable, dare he think it, bridal style, Harry was hoisted into the arms of the taller man and, as he looked again to those eyes, he asked, "Who…who are…are you?"

"All will be explained in time, my Lord," the man explained, keeping Harry close and seemingly covering him with the cloak that Harry had spoiled.

As he went to leave the room, Harry gasped, "Wait: please…don't forget Hedwig."

"She will know where to find you," the man told him, Harry noticing the other soldier unlocking the chains and, saluting once to his superior, he proceeded to remove the locks and bars from Harry's makeshift prison.

Harry, meanwhile, didn't know what was going on, but the one thing he could tell was that he was either safe and being taken somewhere to be looked over or, worse case scenario, he was being rescued for the purposes of someone else who would consider this a debt to be repaid.

Either way, Harry's fatigue and weariness won out and, still wrapped protectively in the strange rescuer's cloak, he finally succumbed to unconsciousness…

TheLastPendragon

Dante O'Brien knew that, when his superior really cared about someone, he was a force to be reckoned with, but this time, there was a fire to the workings of his commander as he carried the now sleeping form of their charge, the young and honorable Lord Harry Potter out of his bedroom. Now that the coast was clear and all tasks at hand had been fulfilled, Dante was safe to ask the question, "Where do we take him, Al?"

Al, as was the name used by those who got close to him, gave a sigh as he held the body of his young Lord in his arms, before he answered, "The Retreat: I have a friend who will help watch over his Lordship until he is back to full strength: in the meantime, Dante, contact Target 2 and tell them the rendezvous is set for Lord Potter's thirteenth birthday as scheduled."

"Yes sir," Dante replied, watching as Al descended the stairs and left the House, the only sign that he had moved being to bend down and, being as careful as possible, he put his Lordship's sleeping form in the back of a jet black Jaguar XJ, two sleek black Hummer trucks either side acting as escorts while Al slid in next to his Lordship and, patting the roof, gave the all-clear to leave the estate and the hell that Harry Potter had called home.

However, he did not promise that there would be anything less than hell in a hand basket for those who had done this to his charge…

TheLastPendragon

Harry was first aware of a soft cold feeling pressing on his forehead when consciousness returned to his body, a strange itching covering his right hand and wrist while his ribs appeared to be wrapped in finely-cut bandages. Even as he turned his head, Harry was also aware of a smell of jasmine and fresh cherries nearby, but his thoughts and questions were cut off as a familiar British accent told him, "Don't try to move too quickly, my Lord: you've been asleep for some time."

Cracking his eyes open, Harry saw the tall man that had rescued him now sitting at his side, his own left hand being the one that applied the cold compress to Harry's forehead. Harry, trying to see beyond his blurred vision, could tell that he wasn't in a hospital and he wasn't in any kind of prison: fine silk sheets concealed his lower body and, as he glanced down, he did indeed notice a few bandages wrapped around his waist, his upper chest area exposed to the elements.

As if he'd read Harry's mind, the tall man handed Harry a small case and, with a smile, he explained, "I believe you'll be needing these for now, my Lord: please, try them on."

Fumbling with his left hand, as his right hand was bandaged at his side, Harry felt a strain of pain shoot through his knuckles, but it wasn't as bad as before: opening the case, he found a pair of brand new glasses with almost invisible silver wire frames and clear glass lenses. Even as he went to slide them over his face, Harry gasped as he felt a magical sense within the glasses and, as they settled on his face, he saw in crystal-clear viewing once again. The magic of the glasses seemed to keep them from falling off and, if he could guess, Harry would also wager some sort of unbreakable charm on the lenses and frame.

Looking again to his right, Harry saw the tall man actually smiling at him before, clearing his throat, he explained, "Begging your pardon, my Lord, but if I may be so bold, you look like the spitting image of your Father with them on."

"Thanks," croaked Harry, the tall man handing him a glass of water, which he helped Harry gulp down before, easing his hand behind Harry's shoulders, he helped the young wizard into a comfortable sitting position. Deciding to go with the first thing he wanted to know, Harry then asked, "Who are you and…why do you call me Lord?"

"Ah," the man replied, nodding once as he continued, "I should have seen those questions coming: it's not your fault, Lord Potter, but allow me to answer them. To the first, I am Alexander Charles York, head of the Potter Family Militia and Royal Guard of the Potter Family's Ancestral Estate and, as to why I address you as Lord, I do so because you are the Lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter as well as the last son of a much older lineage that I ask you do not inquire about until the right time."

"And…" asked Harry calmly; something about this Alexander character seemed to calm him down, "What…when is the right time going to be, Mr York?"

"Call me Alex," Alexander answered, "Or Al, my Lord and, to answer your question, the right time will be your thirteenth birthday, which, according to my calendar, is now one week and three days away: in the meantime, my Lord Potter, I am going to help you heal these wounds that you suffered and I am also here to answer your questions as and when you ask them."

With an oh of a response, Harry sank back onto the bed, his head pounding and his ears ringing with a feeling that he was actually getting into something pretty big here: on one hand, this man had rescued him and clearly respected the Potter Family with a sense of true allegiance, but, on the other hand, Harry had never heard tell of anyone or anything to do with his family and yet, here he was now, being treated by this rescuer and clearly safe and alive.

"I…I suppose…then," Harry rasped, "If…If you're going to be…be around me, Al, then can you please…call me Harry…at least until my…my birthday?"

"I can do that for you, my Lord…I mean, Harry," Al replied, noticing the rate that fatigue was settling back into his young lord, "And please, don't worry yourself so much: my family and all those who serve under me have sworn life-long vows of allegiance to House Potter and all under its banner. I am your soldier, ally, friend and anything else you wish of me, Harry: as I said, I can't tell you the exact details of why I do what I do, but all you need to know for now is that you are safe."

"Then," Harry added, "Thank you…Al: for saving me from them, I mean."

"You're welcome, Harry," Al replied, his eyes on Harry even as sleep claimed his young charge once more.

'And so,' he thought, continuing to apply the soothing salve and water to Harry's brow and wounds, 'It begins again: I actually fear for those who oppose my Lord when he learns the truth…about him and his connection…to Magical Royalty.'

TheLastPendragon

In a rather oddly-shaped house some distance from where Harry was resting, a young girl with white hair that was like the moon and eyes that shone like sapphires looked out across the area outside her home, the distant figure of a man on a broom moving into the distance as he left her home and her family to return to his duty.

"Harry," the girl whispered, an almost musical tone escaping her lips with her voice, "Harry James Potter: get well soon…my Prince."

Then, with a turn on her heel, the girl, a twelve-year-old Luna Lovegood, moved back into her house with a light skip and, glancing once to a display near the door to her home, she smiled before placing two fingers against her lips and pressing them against the display;

The display of a crest showing a red, white and blue dragon encircling one another in a symbol similar to the triquetra, the center of the three shapes bearing a sword and a wand that crossed one another, a golden banner beneath reading one name:

PENDRAGON

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><p><strong>Reviews let me know that you're interested in reading more of this story.<strong>


	2. The Retreat

**_Adopted this from DZ2._**

**The Last Pendragon  
><strong>

**Chapter 1: The Retreat**

**Thank you to those who reviewed/favorited/and followed this story!**

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><p>As time began to move on for Harry, his recovery, much to his surprise, was rather quick and, day-by-day, he found he was not only able to leave his room – so long as an escort was at his side – but he was also able to get back into the routine of moving and performing simple tasks with ease. It took all of three days for his hand and arm to heal – thanks to the magical care of the mysterious Alex York and his company – but his ribs would take a little longer and, in the meantime, Al and his team watched Harry carefully. They didn't coddle him or make him feel uncomfortable, much to his relief, but instead, Al was on hand when Harry needed him and, in the meantime, they were like shadows: ever watching and only acting on their Lord's summons, but, for Harry, it was nice to have someone there looking out for him.<p>

On the fourth day of his recovery, Harry was just sitting down to breakfast, a light meal of scrambled eggs and bacon with toast and fresh orange juice, when Al cleared his throat, Harry glancing to the man who'd rescued him as he asked, "What's wrong, Al?"

"Sorry for disturbing your meal, Harry," Al replied: he was unusually strict in his loyalty towards Harry and always seemed to speak with an air of respect and formality. It was only the fact that he had saved Harry's life and looked after him so well that stopped the young wizard asking otherwise; Al continued, "I thought you should know that I have requested an old friend of mine to come to the Retreat to aid in your recovery and overlook your training and educational needs. He's actually an old friend of the Potter Family as well: in fact, he and your Father were as thick as thieves when they went to school."

"Who is it?" asked Harry, lightly picking at his breakfast and trying his hardest not to aggravate the light pains that shot through him whenever he swallowed: he still found it hard to keep much food down, but, to Al's relief, he was eating again.

"His name is Remus Lupin," Al answered Harry, "He's someone that your parents trust with your life and someone that I can personally vouch for when I refer to his loyalty to House Potter and, above everything else, to you."

Harry didn't mind that: someone out there respected him so much that his parents would have trusted this person: what he did mind was the question of why this person hadn't been the one looking after Harry instead of having him sent into Hell known as Privet Drive?

Rather than feel any sense of anger towards Al in spite of this question, Harry calmed himself before he asked, "When will he arrive?"

"Around noon," Al explained, before he smiled and, approaching Harry, he added, "Before then, if you'd like it, Harry: now that you're strong enough to move without assistance, I was wondering if you would like to see more of the Retreat?"

"I'd like that," Harry replied, as he set down his fork before he added, "Sorry, Al: I can't eat another bite."

"It's alright, Lord Potter," Al sighed and Harry, without showing it on his face, felt suddenly worried: Al had kept to his wish of referring to him by his name, but he only ever called Harry 'Lord Potter' when it was business-related or he felt that whatever he was about to say was important: to hear it associated with Harry's recovery…would it be classed as being a bit of both?

Shaking his head clear of these doubtful thoughts, Harry tried to pick up the conversation as he added, "Al, you shouldn't feel so down about me recovering: you didn't cause my injuries and, in due time, I'll be strong again."

"I appreciate your attempt at cheering me up, Harry," Al smiled, Harry sighing inside as he heard the informal address again, "But it's my duty to protect you and I failed that duty: by all rights, I should have been looking out for you from the day that…that…"

"Mum and Dad died," Harry finished, pulling his chair out and, approaching his temporary guardian and – if he was being honest – new friend, Harry shook his head before he put his hand on Al's shoulder and, clearing his voice, he explained, "I don't know why you weren't looking after me, Al, but, for what it's worth, I appreciate all that you're doing now and all that you've done to find me. So, as Lord Potter, I forgive your so-called folly of failing to look after the last son of the Potter Family. You are a loyal warrior and a good friend and I know that, were they alive now, my Mother and Father would be proud of you for what you're doing to me."

Harry's words seemed to hit home for Al; glancing into the emerald eyes of his charge, the commander of the Potter Militia nodded once before he told Harry, "I thank you for your forgiveness, my Lord: your words speak truth and I vow that I shall not fail you again; now, shall we take a look around?"

"Lead on," Harry instructed, following Al out of the dining hall and into the main corridor that divided most of the Retreat's facilities: in some way, it was like a big in-house encampment with how everything was set out: there was only one floor above and a basement below. The upper floor, according to Al, was used for sleeping and personal areas while the main floor was the main bulk of the Retreat's design. Other than the dining hall and main entrance, the ground floor held a spacious lounge and kitchen – where Al often found Harry making meals for him and the others: when he'd asked why his Lord did this, Harry explained that he wanted a way to thank the soldier – and, off to one side was a room that was used for storage of items such as medical supplies, ingredients for Potion making and a small study with a floor-to-ceiling bookcase that filled one wall.

The basement of the Retreat, Al explained to Harry, was used for the private gymnasium, training area and Potions laboratory that was housed beneath the Retreat. There was also a room that was used for what Al referred to as private items, such as emergency weapons and treasures that were to be stored in the Retreat. When Harry asked who owned the building and its surroundings, he was half-surprised to learn that the property was actually a summer retreat for the now late Lady Evans and her family, including Harry's Mother, Lily.

This brought about the question – in Harry's mind as he figured he'd save any questions for when he met Remus – of the truth behind his Mother's lineage and, once again, Harry couldn't help but wonder why he was left with Petunia, Vernon and Dudley if he had family and friends who would take care of him. On the other hand, he figured that, as Lily's son, he automatically inherited the Retreat and that was why Al had brought him here to recover rather than to some hospital or even the Potter ancestral home.

Other than six guest bedrooms and guest bathrooms that looked like the Retreat could house at least forty or fifty guests, as well as a master bedroom that Harry recognized as the one he'd woken up in, there was also a private tower on the west side of the Retreat used for Astronomy and, rather surprising, he also found an in-house owlery where, as soon as he stepped inside, his smile returned as he spotted Hedwig in one of the nesting areas. Approaching her, Harry stroked the snowy owl softly before he told her, "I'm sorry girl: I didn't mean to let them mistreat you, but I'm so happy that you're all right."

Hedwig nipped at his fingers in response and, for a short second, Harry thought he saw something in her bronze-colored eyes that seemed to indicate she'd understood what he'd just told her…but that was impossible, wasn't it?

Returning to the lounge, Harry then noticed a crest that was mounted over an ornate marble fireplace that was placed against the furthest wall: it looked like a unicorn and a Pegasus standing against each other's rear legs, their forms rising against a blue shield with what appeared to be a golden sword placed between them, the wings of the Pegasus curling around the sword as if protecting it. Beneath the crest, Harry noticed what he supposed was the Evans family motto: Honora inter beatos.

"Honor among the blessed," explained Al, watching as Harry seemed to trace his fingers, "Though it also referred to those who were happy: one thing that you could count on within the Evans and Potter families: there was always happiness to be found."

"And I will continue that legacy," Harry whispered, looking now to Al before he asked, "When did you start serving my family, Al?"

"Twenty-five years ago," Al explained, his eyes filled with strength and determination as Harry appeared to have touched a topic that Al preferred to discuss, "Lord Potter and Lady Evans had been married one year when I joined the ranks among the Militia: your Grandfather, Lord Charles Potter, had just passed on and the one who trained me and served him requested that he be dismissed and I handle his duties. As was the tradition of those who earned their place within the circle entrusted by your parents, I swore an Unbreakable Vow towards my loyalty to the Potter Family and pledged to serve them and their descendants until I died or I too was dismissed from my post."

"What's an Unbreakable Vow?" Harry asked, curious to this last bit of information.

"As it says," Al explained, "It's Unbreakable and should only be cast if the information or tasks associated with the Vow are beyond the normal means of agreement: when I swore mine, it was to ensure that I protected the Potter Family and followed the orders of my liege-lord to the letter. However, when you were born and they were sent into hiding, Lord James used that responsibility to ensure that not even I knew where they hid or how to find them: he sent me away with the charge that I was to keep an eye on the world from afar and, when I felt the pressure of my Vow harming my magic, I was to return. It was the night after Halloween that I felt that pressure and I fled towards the location of that magic as if the devil himself were racing with me: when I reached the home that your parents had hidden within, I found a wreckage and I also found…I found no sign of you."

"So…what did you do?" asked Harry, "If there was no sign of my body among the wreck, then why didn't you just use the Vow to try and find me? After all, as long as I was alive, your Vow was still in effect."

"I know," Al agreed, his voice filled with regret, "But when I tried to tap into that power and search for you, I couldn't manage it: you were lost to me, my Lord and yet I was still alive. It didn't make sense: you were such a bright young child and you were also destined for greater power than most wizards alive or dead, but I couldn't find you."

It was as Al explained about his supposed power levels that Harry then remembered what he'd felt like when trying to counter the abuse by his relatives: the dry desert that was his magical reserves and how he'd been weakened to the point that he couldn't even call upon his Accidental Magic. Keeping himself calm, as he didn't even know if his magic had returned to him, he explained, "Don't blame yourself, Al: I think it's the case that there's someone out there who didn't want you to find me."

"That's what I believe as well, Harry," Al nodded, his voice still tinged with guilt as he continued, "I know you couldn't feel any magic for some time in that hell that you called home, but I won't leave you to remain weak for long. Once Remus gets here, then I can start helping you find that power again and, if I'm right, we can also discover who would want to leave you without power and, more importantly…why?" He had an almost hidden glance to his hawthorn-coloured eyes, but Harry ignored it for now. Al had said that there were things about his legacy that Harry didn't know and couldn't until the right time, so, for now, he'd let his rescuer and friend have his secrets.

"So, you couldn't find me," Harry remarked, his voice calm as he asked, "But if you couldn't find me then, how did you find me now?"

"Through the acts of another," Al explained, "One who has watched you from afar and has heard and seen many things: again, I won't reveal this person until the time is right, but I want you to know that you will meet them and, when you do, they will answer any and all questions that you have. When they saw you at Hogwarts, this person contacted someone who knew how to find me and passed on the information that you were alive and well: then I learned of the events of last year and how it had been a House Elf responsible for your pains of last year. After you left Hogwarts, I tried using the Vow again and found that I couldn't locate you, so I did the only thing I could: I called upon the elf responsible for what had happened and asked him where I would find you."

"This Elf," Harry replied with a soft smile, "His name wouldn't be Dobby by any chance, would it?"

"It would," Al replied, "And Dobby explained that he would only answer me if I promised that I was not out to harm you, though he referred to you as Harry Potter sir; I promised him and asked him how he would like to ensure that he can help the family. When he agreed, I told Dobby to go to the Family's Manor and start to put it back into reasonable shape for living in after your thirteenth birthday. The main act of making this elf a member of your family is yours, my Lord, but I knew he would not oppose you: he respects you too much."

'Tell me something that I don't know,' thought Harry, remembering how he'd told Dobby that his only wish was to never try to save his life again: it seemed that, in his mind, Dobby still owed Harry a debt even with his last order.

"After that," Al continued, noticing Harry become almost uncomfortable with remaining in one place for so long, "I contacted the other members of the Militia and told them that we had to rescue you from this home that you'd be sent to. I never imagined that, when we found you, it would be in such a painful sight or that you would be so powerless to help yourself: again, my Lord Potter, I must apologize for how long it took me to finally do something about this, but I wish you to know that my loyalty and my first priority is, was and always will be the preservation of your life."

"And I both understand and respect that, Al," Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before he continued, "I understand that there are things you can't reveal to me, but, for now, I want you to know that you have earned your place back as the head of my Family's Militia: thank you. Now, I think I need to sit down for a moment: if Remus arrives while I'm in here, could you show him in?"

"As you wish," Al nodded, inclining his head to Harry before he turned and, seeing his young Lord settle down onto the soft black leather sofa in the lounge, he sighed before he left the room.

His heart still burning with the pain and guilt for what he'd done…and what he'd failed to do…

TheLastPendragon

Luna Lovegood didn't regret what she'd done to ensure that Alexander York could be reunited with the young Prince that she was now waiting for the day when they'd meet; his loyalty to the Potter Family and to the destiny that Harry would inherit was similar to the loyalty of the Knights of old to their own lord. When she'd seen Harry – though just fleeting glimpses as she'd never really spoken to him – at feasts, Quidditch games and when he was just leaving lessons, she knew that he was the one the lone warrior had searched for and, thanks to her parents, she had been able to contact Alexander and tell him straight: Harry James Potter was still alive.

It was also on the first time that she'd seen him – as a fleeting glimpse in the first day breakfast meal – that Luna had felt the fine fibers of fate starting to weave their magic and, though she suspected Harry didn't feel it, Luna began to feel her magic call out to Harry and try to draw him closer towards his true self. However, whenever Luna had tried to sense the bond that would form between her and Harry when the time was right, all she'd found was an iron-hard wall of magic that was sealed shut around both Harry's mind and magic. Contacting her Mother, who was an expert in the art of magical senses and the presence of bonds, Luna had learned a startling truth:

Harry…her Harry – could she think of him as hers? Even if they were destined for the bond to be forged, the feelings had to work both ways and she'd only ever glimpsed the boy and never spoken to him – had been trapped behind a block of magic that suppressed not only his true powers, but the side of him that would become one with her through the bonds of fate. Because of this, the bond was weaker and Harry was practically blind to the way that Luna was drawn to him or, more likely, he wasn't even aware she existed.

However, while she'd been observing her future monarch, Luna had seen that Harry had a side that he didn't show others: one of strength, knowledge and understanding of magic that he kept hidden behind this reckless and, as Professor Severus Snape would put it, arrogant little Gryffindor. The one chance Luna had to speak to Harry had also been wasted because of the so-called Golden Trio and that was only because Luna was a Ravenclaw while the Gryffindors stuck together.

That thought alone made her laugh: Gryffindors stuck together?

Yeah, so that was why she'd once overheard Ginevra Weasley plotting on how to make Harry see her as the only one for him and to separate him from influences like the Mudblood witch – Ginny's words – which would leave Harry fair game for her. Or why she'd also heard the other male member of the Golden Trio threatening the apparently Squib-like Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom to stay away from Harry and not even think of mentioning his parents to Harry: honestly, how subtle was that arachnid-fearing idiot anyway?

In Luna's eyes, and through her observations, the only one who really cared for Harry Potter as a person was Hermione Granger: she may not have been aware of Harry's studious side, but she was always there to offer the right kind of advice and support: almost like a sister to him and Harry, through his own unique way, saw her as the same way to him. She stuck by Harry's side through thick and thin, even going to do research to clear him of the supposed crime of harming other Muggleborns and learning more about Harry's surprising use of Parseltongue in the Duelling Club.

Yes, Luna knew that Hermione Granger was Harry's real friend and, because of the manipulations of others, she was also his only real friend while others were there because they had to be or because it was the right thing to do…for the Greater Good.

Now there was a statement that Luna hated, but no matter;

Because, on the day that Harry turned thirteen, his true self would be revealed and woe betide anyone who tried to get in his way…

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	3. Harry's Legacy

_**Adopted this chapter/story from DZ2.**_

**The Last Pendragon**

**Chapter 2: Harry's Legacy**

_**Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favorites!**_

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"My Lord?"

With a groan of questioning, Harry opened his eyes, not really remembering when he'd fallen asleep and, looking up to Al's face, he asked, "What time is it?"

"Three," Al answered, "I'm sorry to wake you, Harry, but you did ask me to inform you when Remus arrived: he's in the dining room right now; do you want me to bring him in here?"

"No," Harry replied, slowly sitting upright and wincing as his movement brushed against his wounded ribs; straightening his robe, he continued, "I'm a little peckish myself: let's have a late lunch and then we can talk about what happens next."

Al inclined his head in response, "I'll inform the kitchen of your request, my Lord: take your time with your movements and don't forget that, if you need help, then just ask."

TheLastPendragon

It was nearly ten minutes later that Harry walked through the fine white-oak doors that led to the dining area to find Al sitting at one end of the table, deep in discussion with a man that was sat opposite him; between them, as was the norm for any meal or gathering, the seat at the head of the table held a piping hot meal for Harry.

Hearing the door open, Al and the stranger both looked up and, as he met the man's eyes, Harry suddenly had a flash of memory: a man just like this one – well, maybe a few years younger – laughing and playing with a barely-one-year-old baby boy while two others looked on with fond expressions in their eyes. A man with grizzled brown hair that held flecks of grey, dark brown-coloured eyes that looked like they'd seen more than the average person was meant to and, finally, robes that looked rather shabby and yet fit the stranger well.

A name, a rather unusual name that Harry assumed was more of a nickname, came to his lips as the man looked to him with a warm smile, "M-Moony?"

"Hello cub," Remus smiled; he had an almost gentle voice that could have encouraged the most frightened of children out of hiding, "How…how are you feeling?"

"I've been better," Harry replied, approaching the table and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Al was moving his chair aside so Harry could easily take his seat with them, "But…how…how do…I remember you?"

"I was always with your Mum and Dad when you were but a baby," Remus whispered, watching Harry all the way around the table with those calm, yet dark brown eyes, "And I loved them as I still love you: if it weren't for…for another, then I suspect that Lily and James would have made me your godfather. In the meantime, James always said that I was like an honorary uncle to you…I hope that's okay, Harry?"

"It…it's fine," Harry replied, now taking his seat as he looked from Remus to Al, "So, what is there that we need to discuss, Al?"

Remus answered before Al could, "We need to discuss more about these power blocks you've suffered: after all, you are the Last Son of the Pendragon Family and…"

"Remus!" Al snapped, but Harry had heard it.

"I'm…I'm the what?" he asked, earning an almost guilty look from both Remus and Al as he asked, "What did you say?"

"Oh," Remus replied, looking to Al, "I thought you'd have told him by now."

"No," Al replied, looking from Remus to a still-stunned Harry, "But what he says is true, my Lord. I think it's time that we had that talk."

Silence was his answer from Harry…

Finishing his lunch, Harry pushed a still half-full plate away from himself before he linked his fingers and, looking to Remus, he asked, "So, just to check that I wasn't hearing things in my half-asleep state, can you repeat what you said I was?"

"Okay," Remus replied, his eyes narrowing as he saw Harry's lack of appetite: in the time it had taken for Al to inform Harry of Remus' arrival and then for them to wait until Harry had turned up, Al had explained things about Harry's condition that Remus didn't want to believe. However, seeing it here and now gave him no other option than to believe Al and believe that Harry certainly hadn't been treated well by anyone save for friends…and, if Al was right, even those were rare. Clearing his throat, he explained to Harry, "I said that you, Harry James Potter, are the Last Son of the Pendragon Family, the oldest, strongest and, indeed, one of the most powerful bloodlines in the magical world."

"Uh huh," Harry replied, looking now to Al, who held a rather guilty look on his face ever since Remus had spilled the beans, "And you knew this, Al?"

"I did, my Lord," Al replied, noticing that there wasn't any hostility or even a trace of disappointment in Harry's voice. He just wanted the truth and he would save any real reaction until after the truth was revealed. "You technically weren't supposed to know until the day you turned thirteen: that was the plan agreed by Lord James, Lady Lily and myself the last time I saw them; I know you were curious, but my obligation to my duty and the vows I make to my liege-lords will always come first. I am sorry for not informing you of this, my Lord: I will never intentionally lie or keep secrets from you: if you want to know anything, then all you have to do is ask."

"Alright," Harry remarked, closing his eyes for a moment as he let Remus' words settle into his mind: Pendragon: one of the oldest bloodlines in the magical world – that was an understatement. Pendragon meant Arthur Pendragon, as in Merlin, Morgana Le Fay and Mordred, three of the most infamous and well-known wizards and witches in the world. And he, Harry Potter, was the heir to this bloodline, the proverbial Last Son; there was only one thing he wanted from Al, "You should probably start at the beginning: which side of my family and which side of the bloodline?"

"In reality," Al explained, "Both sides of the bloodline, hence your title and status as the Last Son of Pendragon: your Father, James Potter, is a descendant of Godric Gryffindor, who, in reality, is a descendant of Arthur Pendragon while your Mother, Lily Evans, is actually a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, who is a descendant of Merlin himself. Some even speculate that Slytherin was Merlin's apprentice and, when he went on to create Hogwarts with the Four Founders, he shared his master's teachings with them, though Godric also likely shared his knowledge of the Pendragon bloodline with Salazar and vice-versa."

"But I thought that Godric and Salazar were enemies?" Harry asked, his eyes filled with wonder as to what he was learning from his new ally and his old family friend.

"Originally," Remus explained, now putting his own two cents into the conversation, "They were: this was before Hogwarts was constructed and before the two met; all they knew of one another was that there were two powerful wizards out there and they were them. Their battles, lost in the annuls of time and stories of legend, are things to behold, but, when Godric or Salazar – whoever it was that learned the truth first – learned that the other was an heir of the same bloodline, they put the past behind them and, with help from Helga and Rowena, created a place where prodigal witches and wizards could be trained and raised. The stories of their fallings and Slytherin's hatred of Muggleborns is nothing more than pureblood propaganda handed down from the generations who would never believe that Salazar Slytherin was friends and, for all intents and purposes, brothers-in-all-but-blood with someone who respected the possible potential within a Muggleborn."

"Their lineages," Al explained, "Then dispersed after they'd died, but there was one family that remained constant with the Gryffindor bloodline and that was Godric's eldest son: the late, and first, Lord Potter: Arthur – named after his ancestor – Rowan Potter, who, in hindsight, gave life to the Potter bloodline and continued it down through the years."

"And Salazar Slytherin?" Harry asked. "How can he be tied to my Mother's past if she was a Muggleborn?"

"I see you've come to that conclusion by yourself, cub," Remus smiled, the use of the nickname – if it was a nickname – confusing Harry for a moment, but he let it slide for now as Remus continued, "Yes, Lily was supposedly born to a Muggle family, but this, I am sorry to say, is not true. Lily is actually the daughter of a pureblood Lady Evans and Lord Evans, but, before she was sent to Hogwarts, Lily went missing and the next time that her family heard from her, it was as a student of Gryffindor at Hogwarts…in her seventh year."

"What happened?" asked Harry, a strange warmth spreading from his heart as he heard this home truth about his Mother's past, "Where did she go?"

"Privet Drive," Remus answered, his alternate side picking up the anger in Harry and the warmth that was spreading from within him: he had to keep his cub calm for now before Harry let out his magical reaction…and, away from whoever or whatever had been blocking his power, Harry could level an entire village with his release. "She was sent to the place where Petunia Evans, a Muggle with Muggle parents and a past that had no ties to the wizard Evans family lived. There, her memories were rewritten and she was led to believe she had a sister, when, in reality, Lily was an only child, just like James. However, in some rather coincidental attempt to counter the effect of her lack of memories, Lily made a friend in her younger years: you should know him, Harry…as he teaches at the school."

"Hagrid?"

"No," Remus replied, his eyes filled with amusement as he seemed to notice Harry figure it out, but was denying it, "Think an actual teacher and someone with a tie to Lily's bloodline…from Slytherin."

"Flitwick?" Harry guessed, his common sense screaming the answer at him, but there was no way: not him? Anyone but him!

"Think taller and more brooding."

"But if not them," Harry gasped, "And Dumbledore's too old to be a young friend in Mum's younger years, then that leaves…one…person…no," he shook his head, "It can't be!"

"It was," Remus explained, "And still is to this day…Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin House and, if I've heard right, someone who actually hates the very ground you walk on."

"That's an understatement," Harry muttered, his eyes filled with shock as he asked, "Snape? How can Severus Snape be an old friend of my Mother's and yet hate me so much?"

"That's what I intend to find out as well, cub," Remus answered him, his own eyes filled with a fire that seemed to make them look more like amber as he heard the disbelief in Harry's voice. "But it's true. Severus was a friend of your Mother's as a child and, as if the irony wasn't hard enough, he was also the one who told her that she had magic and was a witch. However, when they went to Hogwarts, Lily went to Gryffindor and Severus went to Slytherin and it was there, unfortunately, that Lily's friendship and eventual relationship with James created a rift between her and Severus. Oh, she tried to continue their friendship, but the House rivalries and the hatred and rivalries between Severus and James drove them further and further apart: everything he's no doubt told you about James, Harry, is true. James and Severus had a rivalry that was all too similar to the reports I've heard of a hatred between you and another young Slytherin and, in their later years, things turned dangerous and Severus ended up losing Lily forever…or so he believed."

"Meaning what?" Harry asked, but Remus seemed to smile with slyness as he put a finger to his lips.

"You'll find that out when you turn thirteen, Harry, but know this, if that sallow-skinned Slytherin is still hateful towards you in the new term, then I want you to know that you'll have backup…in my form."

"You?" Harry asked and Al shared the shock of the Potter and Pendragon Heir as he looked to his old acquaintance.

"Yes," Remus replied, "A few days after the end of term, Dumbledore contacted me and offered me the spot of Defense against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts; I knew you'd be there, Harry, so I accepted, but, if there's to be no rift between us, then there are a few things you need to know about me. But that can wait until later; for now, let's get back to the point of this conversation: your legacy as the Last Son of Pendragon."

"As you may have already guessed," Al continued, grateful for Remus leaving his big news until afterwards, "Your bloodline as the Last Son of Pendragon means that, when you come of age at seventeen, you'll inherit the throne of Magical Britain from the ancient citadel of Camelot, which, yes, Harry, does exist. For now, you have the title of Prince and, as of your thirteenth birthday, the title will change to Crown Prince. So, to put it simply, your full title will be Crown Prince Harry James Pendragon, future King of the magical community of Great Britain and Ireland and ruler of the magical land of Camelot."

"And," Harry picked up, a feeling of theoretical belief worming into his mind as he looked to Al: he was surprised to learn he was to be a King, but for now, there was one thing he wanted to know, "You suspect that this is why someone left me so weak that I couldn't even cast a simple Lumos spell, don't you?"

"Indeed I do, Your Highness," Al smiled, bowing his head to Harry: surprisingly, the regal address didn't bother Harry; even his title, Prince Harry Pendragon…it had a magical sound to it that made him feel like he knew his true self. Keeping a smile on his face, Harry listened as Al continued, "The Royal Guard, the soldiers that rescued you whom are all led by me, all seek to serve you with dignity, pride and loyalty to the very end and, no matter what, my Lord, I shall never leave your side. So yes, I do believe that there is someone out there who knows of your destiny and the destiny of your two families to become the sole ruler of Magical Britain and, if my theory is correct, then it would mean this same person took your Mother from her true family and left her with Muggles."

A look of darkness seemed to cross Al's face and, as Harry glanced towards Remus, he noticed the same look on the future teacher's face as well; Harry didn't know why, but he too had a theory and, as he looked back to Al, he decided to take a leap of faith as he asked, "You…you suspect the headmaster, don't you? Professor Dumbledore?"

"I do," Al replied calmly, though his face was like stone and his hawthorn eyes now appeared to have blacked out as he answered his ward and lord. "I suspect that Albus Dumbledore is actually a member of a bloodline that challenged the rule of King Arthur and the power of Merlin back in ancient times, but if I am right, then it would mean that this same bloodline seeks what you have, my Prince. The throne of Magical Britain and access to the land of Camelot."

Harry wanted to speak out against this. To say that Dumbledore had never given him reason to suspect he wanted anything from Harry, but, as he did, he began to think about everything that had happened and all that he'd heard and learned from his time at Hogwarts. Hagrid had said that there was no safer place than Gringotts Bank, except perhaps Hogwarts and yet, in two years, Hogwarts had been breached by a spectral form of Voldemort, had a troll break into its walls, kept a powerful and dangerous treasure under its floors and, on top of all that, had also housed a beast of Slytherin's ancestry in the Chamber of Secrets.

'And every time,' Harry thought, not liking where this train of thought was heading, 'I've been the one to face this challenge while he's coincidentally left the premises. When I went after the Stone, he was at the Ministry and supposedly on his way back to Hogwarts, arriving just in time to pull Quirrellmort off me. Then he gets himself suspended and I not only come close to being dinner for a nest of Acromantulas, but I'm also poisoned by the Basilisk in trying to save Ginny Weasley's life. Actually,' he seemed to catch on another section of the train of thought that was running through his mind, 'The Chamber had been opened fifty years ago, when Tom Riddle was at Hogwarts and Dumbledore was still a teacher: surely he'd have known about the attacks and tried to stop deaths from happening. But instead, he leaves it until it's too late to do anything and then, when all hope seems lost, it falls to me, the Boy-Who-Lived to try and save the day. Why? Dumbledore's supposed to be the greatest wizard of his time and he's over a hundred years old: and…and…he lied to me.'

"My Lord?" Al asked, Harry realizing that he must have been silent for some time, "What is it? Is there something you want to say, my liege?"

"He lied to me," Harry whispered, earning a look of almost relief from Al while Remus just looked confused.

"Who, cub?" he asked, watching as Harry looked to him before returning his attention to the table.

"Dumbledore," Harry explained. "He lied to me: he said that my Parseltongue abilities came from a transfer of power that Voldemort gave me when I destroyed him as a baby. He must know I'm Slytherin's Heir: he wanted me to be afraid of this power and to ensure that I never used it again; he must have done something when I was recovering to dampen my magic at…at that place."

"This proves it," Al whispered, his voice filled with a sense of purpose as he moved around the table and, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, he explained, "Dumbledore must have dampened your magical potential as a baby and then, when you started to show signs of your inheritance showing through, he made sure that you had no magical defenses at all when you went…back there. I wouldn't put it past the manipulative old goat to even consider compelling those Muggle monsters to do some more damage to you just so he could try and show you that he's the good guy in all this and your only way out."

"Or," Harry added, his voice filled with dread, "I know it sounds sick, but what if…he wanted me to die before I turned thirteen? After all, you said it yourself that would be the age when I become Crown Prince of Magical Britain and can claim the Pendragon legacy, but, if I was dead then he could use his bloodline…whatever it is, and ensure that he could claim the Pendragon legacy, the citadel of Camelot and everything else that comes with it. It wouldn't matter if Tom came back or not, because Dumbledore would be able to defeat…no, destroy him with the power and resources that come from my bloodline."

"It is a pretty dark thought," Remus agreed, though he knew where his loyalty stood, "But I fear that you're both right: Harry, I know I'll be a professor at Hogwarts, but my loyalty is yours as it was with James when he was alive. I'll help you get stronger and, as your magic grows, I feel that you'll discover new powers with it, so I'll help you there as well. I couldn't help James and I was too late to try and protect you, but now, I have the chance to honor his memory and take care of the child who, if James had asked, I would have called my son in a heartbeat."

"Thanks Remus," Harry added, more familiar feelings coming back to him as he heard the man's determination to stand loyal and true at his side; as these thoughts filled his body, Harry then asked, "Remus, did my parents trust anyone else with me and my life? It's just that, ever since I've seen you today, I've had this feeling that something out there is missing from the picture. I can't help but feel that there's someone else out there: someone who I need to meet and, like you and Al, will do anything to see me safe, strong and loved by my friends and close family."

Remus shared an almost hesitant glance with Al before, looking back to Harry, he nodded as he explained, "There was one other that your parents trusted: his name is Sirius Black and, at this moment, he's currently residing in Azkaban for betraying your parents to Voldemort."

"What?" asked Harry, a strange magical tingle now crossing the table: from where he was stood next to Harry, Al felt a magical ripple in his liege-lord's magical reserves: his power was starting to come back, but if he let it out, then it could get dangerous.

"It's not true," Al explained, glancing to Remus with an air of warning, "I knew Lord Black when he was friends with your Father and cared for both your Mother and you; they trusted him so much that he became your godfather on the day that you were born and, if anything happened to them, Lord James gave me specific instructions that you were to be protected and cared for by a few chosen friends: Lord Black was number one on that list."

"Number one with a bullet," Remus agreed, looking now to Harry as he explained, "With the exception of quite possibly, Alexander or even Sirius, there was no-one else that your parents trusted more and that was what made the case when he was sent to Azkaban. However," here, he looked to the Captain of the Guard before continuing, "I do know that Alexander would never lie and, for years, I always wondered how and why Sirius could have done what he did…to them and to you, but, if Al's right, then we need to find out the truth."

"Then that's what we'll do," Harry agreed, his emerald eyes filled with light as he added, "But, if Al's wrong and it proves that Sirius did betray my parents to that murdering psycho, then nothing on this earth will stop me from silencing him once and for all."

"Then it's a good thing that Remus speaks the truth when he says I never lie," Al laughed, though the firm look in Harry's eyes told the Captain of the Royal Guard that this was no time for jokes.

Harry, no puns intended, was being deadly serious about dealing with Sirius Black if the truth was indeed what had happened…

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